


Forty-Seven Percent

by murraysmistress



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F, Vampire AU, Vampires, thTDUmB FEMSlASH TOURNAMENT ThingHUGH, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murraysmistress/pseuds/murraysmistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're losing the femslash tournament, and a very blood-thirsty H.G. is angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Seven Percent

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't proofread this because I'm lazy etc etc. Rizzles shippers: beware. I'm sure you're lovely people, but Helena and I had to cope somehow.

The look on Claudia's face says it all, really. Myka wishes she hadn't asked to begin with.

But here they are.

"We... lost?" she croaks, just barely able to push the words from her mouth. She's not surprised; She could see this coming from the very start. It's a miracle they'd even made it this far. But now, in the silence of Artie's office and the grips of a truth she isn't ready to hear, Myka can't ignore the poignant ache settling into her chest.

She's _sick_ of losing.

Claudia's hands run up through her hair and her head shakes. "Well, no, you haven't exactly lost... and there are still 32 minutes and 25.6 seconds until the voting is officially over. There's still a chance you'll pull ahead, but... you guys are losing, Mykes. And the Rizzles shippers are playing dirty. I mean, we're playing dirty, too- trust me, I've tried every trick in AND out of the book- but they're playing _really_ fraking dirty."

Myka's eyes flicker over to the dark and silent figure beside her. She reaches out with the intension of comfort, but Helena jerks her hand away stiffly and curls it into a fist.

"There's absolutely nothing else you can do?" Myka tries. Claudia throws up her hands.

"Everything, Mykes! I did everything and got nada! I even stooped to the old-fashioned 'block-your-cookies' trick. Man, you should've seen Pete's face when I told him about _that_..."

A low growl pricks Myka's left ear, and she turns just in time to watch her lover's back disappear through the umbilical.

 

 

"Still no H.G.?"

Myka glances up at Steve only briefly before pulling out her seat at the breakfast table and settling herself into it with an undignified 'thud.' She sighs. "Nope."

All is silent save for the scraping of metal forks against plates. Pete offers her a bagel, and she waves her hands in refusal.

Her head hurts.

She's been up half the night crying, and the other half just... waiting. After Helena's transformation a year ago, she'd disappeared for nearly a week and returned to find Myka asleep at the downstairs table with _The Time Machine_ clutched between her sleeping fingers. Her skin smelled like salt. That night, Helena carried a slowly-waking Myka up to her room and promised that she'd never disappear like that again.

The first time Helena broke that promise, Myka had more than just a headache in the morning, and the pain had been harder to hide.

Now, she curses herself for feeling anything at all.

That damned poll is just the cherry on top.

Claudia coughs.

"So, uh, should we be worried?" she asks tentatively, glancing towards Pete.

"She'll be back," Myka deadpans.

"Um, Myka, I'm not sure whether or not you understand this, but your girlfriend is vampire. A big, old, _angry_ vampire," Pete says. "The last time she did this, she killed- what? Like ten people in one night?"

"She does have an impressive body count," Claudia agrees.

"Well what do you want me to do? Put her on a leash?"

"That would be-"

"-Unnecessary."

The voice comes from behind. It's all too familiar- not just the voice, but the tone; Myka has come to know her lover's just-been-fed state all too well within the last twelve months. She doesn't need to look up to know that it's Helena.

But she looks up anyway. Myka forces her eyes to take it all in: The fresh and hasty ponytail in with which Helena's knotted hair has been tamed; the ombre of flushed rose on her cheeks blurring into a burning crimson around her lips and dripping over the soft rise of her chin; the same red staining her olive jacket; the slightly broken angle of her posture; the remnants of flesh under her fingernails; and the dirt on the cuffs of her pants.

Claudia is the first to address her, and when she does, there's a tremor in her voice that sends a shiver down Myka's spine.

"...the Rizzles voters...?"

Helena smirks. "Every. Last. One of them."


End file.
